


Green

by infiniteviking



Series: Drabbulous [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-26
Updated: 2005-06-26
Packaged: 2017-11-11 12:00:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/478336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infiniteviking/pseuds/infiniteviking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He never thought he'd end up here... but that's okay, because he's not exactly here after all. Multi-drabble set, written pre-HBP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Green

**Prologue**

The black-haired boy stares at the ceiling.

He's been up here for weeks, undisturbed. Nobody dares bother him. Especially now.

They're scared of him. All of them. Scared of what he's become.

Today he comes of age.

_Today you are a man._

Dumbledore... won't look at him. Hasn't looked at him for a year and a half. There's something to being wise after all. The old man knows exactly how badly he has failed.

Voices. They're fighting downstairs again. About him. And other such nonsense.

" _Avada kedavra,_ " he whispers bitterly.

His wand flashes green, and the flies drop like flies.

-

**Part I**

" _Just a boy_ ," they said. " _Shouldn't have so much on his shoulders._ "

They're still saying it. He can hear them downstairs, bickering as if his mental health was the only thing at stake.

He knows better. He's known since that night in Dumbledore's office. The end is already written. Only the aftermath is in doubt.

He's more than a boy, now. He's the fulcrum, the catalyst, and to end it he must speak two words or be silenced. It won't be murder. Voldemort's not human. But in the end he must either kill or die.

Two words. _Avada Kedavra._

Green--

-

**Part II**

He never smiles now. Caring has been called his greatest asset, but he knows too acutely the pain of caring, the price of love. Honor, prudence, compassion, forgiveness, grace... he's tried the lot, and his best efforts resulted in death.

People believe in him. He can't imagine why. He no longer asks for their trust. He just doesn't think about it. Even Voldemort's roiling silence is better than acknowledging the consequences of his own altruism.

A cruel, high voice. "Kill the spare." And the same two words, glancing past him, borne on a rushing wind of doom.

" _Avada Kedavra._ "

Green...

-

**Part III**

Banned, set apart, he can't watch a match without shuddering, haunted by the Founders' lack of foresight: a quarter of the stands tricked out in the color of death. Not exactly though. Too pale, too reserved. Death (how Slytherin) by slow torture. Death deferred.

He's banned, but others are not. Others have invaded his personal sport -- the only thing he could do without trying.

Malfoy. The Golden Snitch. Their rivalry is insignificant now.

The words echo in the screams from the stands, follow him onto the pitch, reverberate between his ears every time a Slyth flashes by.

_Avada Kedavra._

Green.

-

**Part IV**

Every now and then he hunts up a Boggart, just to check. As it turns out, Dementors are still his greatest fear. But for a different reason than before.

His life has become progressively harder, his demons progressively worse. The things in his head would crush any other wizard. He has only one good memory left.

The irony kills him.

He can't go near a Dementor now. He doesn't want to forget.

The last good night. Their last, precious words. So precious that he can almost disregard the shrill, endless scream, and that laugh, high and cold--

"Avada Kedavra."

Green--

-  
 **Part V**

The black-haired boy stares at the ceiling. Today he is seventeen. Today he can practice magic outside of school.

It is unfortunate, therefore, that he no longer exists -- not as anything human. What remains is only a living tool: a trained, honed, broken warrior, savior of the wizarding world; a phantom, a legend, a dream.

In effect, he is already dead.

And so he waits. Without hope, without fear.

And he practices, over and over, the two words that have become his only reason for life, the old, deadly, unforgivable words, the curse that matches his eyes.

" _Avada Kedavra._ "

Green...


End file.
